


One Thing Wilson Doesn't Know About House

by thedeadparrot



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Backstory, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-08
Updated: 2009-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-02 04:18:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedeadparrot/pseuds/thedeadparrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a snippet of House's childhood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Thing Wilson Doesn't Know About House

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be part of a Five Things set, but the other four never quite seemed to be good enough. It's more of an experiment in style than anything else.

#### 1.

That when he was seven, he had another best friend named James, who lived two houses down, loved to climb trees, and owned the best marble collection in the world, greens and yellows and blues, glass that caught the light, painting colors on the ground as they played. They knew each other for three months, summer fading into autumn, and House can remember the scrape of pavement under his bare knees, the feel of summer sweat forming on his skin, the roar of airplane engines in the background, distant yet close. They got their hands impossibly sticky with ice cream and candy in the afternoons, their mothers smiling indulgently with shakes of their heads. James was the sort of sharp and quick that House could admire. The same age, and yet older, because he had a brother who was ten and who passed on the hard won wisdom of those three years difference. He had bright, blue eyes, dirty blond hair and an easy smile that charmed all the parents, and House can remember that summer as one of the best, a time filled with things to do, people to be, the world still an odd, magical place. When House thinks of him, he thinks of those things, the smell of barbecue in the air, the taste of summer on his tongue, the streaks of green grass stains on his legs, and not the last time they saw each other, when James' father had been reassigned early, late afternoon, late fall, when the light was beginning to dip below the houses, the leaves crunching under their sneakers as they hugged, tightly, their parents watching on, squeezing the breath out of each other because neither wanted to let go.

That sometimes he still thinks of James, when he and Wilson are on the balcony, sunlight on their faces, dreaming up pranks of play, people to terrorize, feeling seven again and loving every moment of it. There are times when he wonders what happened to that James, in the end, whether or not he found another Greg, somewhere else. Someone else who understood, who would be willing to play marbles with him on cement sidewalks, flicking the glass with sure fingers.


End file.
